


Forbidden Knowledge

by Voidcoffee



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Body Horror, I wrote this for day 1 of weirdtober, I'm not even sure it is body horror but it's some sorta horror alright, Other, except you know...I wrote it in january
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22175254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidcoffee/pseuds/Voidcoffee
Summary: Juno's thinking about that one terrible secret he must keep from his boss, his coworkers, everyone.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Kudos: 23





	Forbidden Knowledge

Being with him is...weird. That’s not even the right word, but that’s all I can think of right now. It’s been so long. Time has changed not only him, but me as well in more ways than I can even think to mention. I’m not one for joking, but I suppose you can say I’ve gotten a...different point of view on the world. Strangely, one less singular than it was before. Less black and white and more grey. Grey like the streaks running through his hair, aging him prematurely. Grey like his eyes. Grey like...the walls of this ship. I don’t know, I’m not a poet. Just felt something needed to be there. 

Talking to him feels odd. In private, but somehow especially with the others around. I always catch myself before I say it, but I worry one day I won’t. If our... _ relationship _ hasn’t turned around never to return yet, I think it definitely will then. The second that name stumbles over my lips and he shoots me a glance that’ll rip the duct tape right off my heart and make all the shards dig into my chest once more. 

But keeping it in hurts so much.

Every time I look at him and have to catch myself, the gravel digs into my palms. “Ransom,” I tumble, or “Peter,” I fall, throwing myself into a hole of my own making. And when I stare up from the hole, what do I see? Him. I see him. His smile like moonlight shining down on me. His eyes staring me down until I no longer feel myself. Until I no longer know. Know anything. Nothing except his name burning my tongue until I inevitably choke on my own blood. 

Not even my nights are safe. He can’t even let me have that. I can’t even count on my hands and toes anymore the number of times I’ve woken up in a pool of sweat that could’ve easily been any other liquid considering the thing that had brought me to that state. The dreams. No. The nightmares. Those same two words echoing and echoing until the sound fades away the rest of the universe. And I feel so terribly alone. Floating in a void with just his name to keep me company, but knowing repeating it will shatter reality like a mirror. The echo doesn’t respond. Trust me, I’ve tried. It never changes its voice, never changes the words it speaks no matter what I tell it. In fact, the only thing that changes, is me. 

Sometimes it’s my brain. Sometimes it’s like the voice is echoing not in the void, but in my head. And when it does...it hurts like nothing you could ever imagine. Imagine if someone stuck a large speaker directly into your skull and played it on its loudest setting. Got it? See, that doesn’t even come close to how that feels. I can feel the voice turn my brain into mush. I can  _ feel _ my brain leaking from my ears and my nose and my mouth. I can  _ taste _ it. And you know what’s the worst part of that? You know what sucks the most? The taste _ lingers _ . I can still taste that throat-scratching, vile ichor when I wake up. I can still taste it when I brush my teeth. And I can still taste it when I’m eating my goddamn breakfast, sitting right in front of the man whose name torments my every single night. 

And sometimes? Sometimes it’s my own voice. Not my own voice calling his name, no. Not even in my dreams can I say those rotten words. It’s my own voice that hurts. That disappears. Is faded away by the same power that faded away the rest of the universe, everything but my body and his name. And then I am truly alone. Which is not to say it feels like it isn’t there. It  _ burns _ . And sometimes, it doesn’t burn at all, but those times are even worse. Those times, I can taste his lips on mine. Taste his tongue as it slides down my throat and steals my voice. I can feel it, licking away at my vocal cords.  _ Tugging _ on them as if I’m some sort of instrument ready for him to play. 

When I wake up, I remind myself that I am. An instrument for him to play, that is. He’s shown that before. Or, rather, I showed that to him. Or maybe, no. I mean...I don’t know. How do you know which party is to blame for love? Is it me? Did I allow him to bury into me, or did he do so without me ever knowing until I felt his fingers wriggle around in my heart? Does it even matter? 

Even as I look at him now behind the wheel of a car that’s been through more shit than either of us. Even now, with Vespa and Buddy in the backseat, quietly communicating to Rita about some detail we’d both forget about before it was even important. Even now, I see that goddamn smile of his tugging on all my strings to play that secret song. And I have to fight not to say those words. To keep his name, to keep his existence, so close to my chest it’ll burn a hole right through it if I don’t let go soon. It’s like trying to hold a star. One day it’ll char me so much, there will be nothing left to hold it. And that day, it’ll fall. It will break like the fine china it is and its shards will spill across its galaxy. But that’s not all. The contents of it will spread even further, rolling and rolling and rolling until it has reached every remote outpost, every planet, every ruin of civilizations long gone and then everyone will know and I will finally be free. I don’t hold up the sky, or the earth, or push some boulder up a never-ending hill. I hold a star. 

And its name is Peter Nureyev.


End file.
